Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
Nash
T he sponsor party is in the middle of the freaking desert, and I’ve never seen anything so ridiculously lavish in my life. The temperature has dipped to the low seventies, which is practically a cold wave. The moon is full, making the sky look like blue velvet studded with diamonds, and laid out before us are massive white tents. I count ten in all, each the breadth of a moderately sized house and interconnected by wooden walkways.
Along the walkways are massive urns with palm trees strung with fairy lights and small speakers are nestled within so the music drifts through the space. The tents themselves are open with no walls, but the edges are swathed in fabrics of rich golds, deep purples and shimmering silvers with translucent veils hanging down that ripple in the soft breeze. Through the hazy material I see men in custom suits or in the traditional Saudi thobes of flowing white. Women are in formal gowns but many, in deference to modesty, have long sleeves. Some have sheer capes or scarves over their shoulders. A few wear jewel-encrusted hijabs.
“This is fucking bananas,” Matthieu says as we make our way into the first tent. Tonight, we shared a car with Bernie to wherever we are. We were taken out of the city and into the dark desert for this event.
Inside the first tent, it’s immediately obvious why there are ten of them. The center pole, planted on a gleaming hardwood floor, is a swirling braid of fabrics in black and orange, the distinctive colors of my former team, Bauer FI Racing, based out of Austria.
“A tent for each team,” Bernie says, stating the obvious. “Cool.”
The tent is cavernous, easily able to hold dozens of people, along with tables of food and neon-backlit bars serving drinks. Because alcohol is strictly prohibited in Saudi Arabia, I’m sure they’re serving a variety of mocktails, fresh juices and probably teas.
“I’m going to grab a drink,” I say to the other guys, mainly to distance myself. I have no intention of hanging with them tonight, and I want to use this opportunity to connect with some of the other drivers I haven’t seen in three years.
I particularly want to see Carlos and find out why he was so cozy with Bex earlier today, but I haven’t quite figured out how to go about doing that without sounding overly invested.
“Good thing I brought my own,” Matthieu says, and I glance at him. He grins at me, opens his suit jacket, and I see the top of a liquor flask inside.
“Dude,” I say, lowering my voice. “You get caught with that, you’re going to end up in a Saudi prison.”
“Not going to get caught,” Matthieu says dismissively.
“If you do, I’ll move into your slot,” Bernie says with a bark of laughter.
Jesus, these guys are idiots and I walk away, needing to get as far from them as I can. I exit the Bauer tent and move along the path to the next one. It’s decorated in the red and white of Matterhorn FI Racing.
Several glittering chandeliers overhead cast shadows that dance across the hardwood floors, and I move to one of the bars to get a sparkling water. As a driver, I’ve attended my share of sponsor events, but nothing quite like this. I’m here to mingle, schmooze our sponsors, and—hopefully—not think too much about the chaos of the last few days.
Definitely shouldn’t be thinking of Bex, although I’m not even sure if she’s coming. It’s mandatory for the drivers but not the rest of the team.
I spot Carlos talking to a young Arab man in a bespoke suit in dark charcoal gray. He oozes wealth and I’m sure he’s associated with one of the formula sponsors, although I don’t recognize him. Carlos catches my eye and lifts his chin. He says something to the man—shakes his hand and laughs at something he says. Carlos is good at the schmooze game and extricates himself with a slight wave before heading my way.
There’s no pretension with Carlos as he crosses the floor, nodding at others he passes with a genuine smile. He’s the kind of guy you want by your side at every event like this, and even though I had a flare of jealousy when I saw him hugging Bex, he’s the type you just know wouldn’t encroach. Still, I am curious if he’ll reveal anything of their conversation. Being in proximity to her the last few days, I find myself far too curious about her for my own good.
Carlos greets me with a clap on the back. “There you are, amigo. Your entry back into FI is looking good on you.”
“Feels good to be back.” And yeah… even this spectacle that we’re required to attend for our sponsors in gratitude of the insane amounts of money they spend feels like I’m home.
“I have to say,” he says, looking around with amusement, “I never thought I’d find such glamour in the middle of the desert. I mean… just the generators they must have somewhere out there in the dark to power this place is over the top.”
I laugh, taking in the sparkling lights and people chatting, laughing and looking entirely too polished for my taste. The occasional server passes by, holding trays of flutes filled with exotic juices and small bites of delicate food.
Carlos raises his hand to someone across the way and I see a guy with longish, tousled, bleach-blond hair. I recognize him as Reid Hemsworth, the Aussie driver racing for Matterhorn.
Reid’s a new driver in the series, arriving the year after I crashed. His journey into FI has been unusual to say the least. The guy didn’t just climb the ladder… he practically built his own. He started in karting, like most of us, tearing up the local circuits as a kid, winning just about everything in sight. But instead of moving straight into open-wheel racing like the rest of us, he took a sharp left into rally racing.
It’s a crazy motorsport. Dirt, gravel, snow—whatever the terrain, Reid could handle it. He spent years there, throwing cars sideways through hairpin turns and dodging trees at a hundred miles an hour. It’s the kind of racing that doesn’t just test your skill—it tests your guts.
And Reid? He has plenty of both.
It wasn’t until his early twenties that someone spotted him at an event and convinced him to give circuit racing a shot. That’s when he landed in FI2, and man, did he shake things up. He didn’t have the polish most of us grew up with, but what he lacked in refinement, he made up for in raw talent and aggression. He drove like every race was his last, and it got him noticed.
Now he’s here in FI, still carrying that rally edge—fearless, a little unpredictable, and apparently a pain in the ass to race against. But there’s no denying it… Reid’s the kind of driver who keeps you on your toes, and I’m excited to go head-to-head with him. Last year he won two Global Prix races, proving that he deserves to be here.
Carlos waves Reid over. “You’re going to like Reid. He’s good people.”
The Aussie reaches us, giving me a flashy white smile, and sticks his hand out. “Been dying to meet you, mate,” he says as we shake. “Big fan of yours.”
“I’ve been watching you,” I reply. “You had some amazing races last year.”
“Still trying to get my bearings on circuit tracks but loving the speed,” he replies with a laugh.
The guy is instantly likable—easygoing but with a sharp edge to his confidence, and we move into a conversation about racing. I ask him about his transition from rally and he’s open, excited even, about the challenges. He’s passionate, but not in an annoying way. It’s refreshing to talk to someone who hasn’t been burned out by the grind yet.
I hide the grimace when Bernie and Matthieu join us. While there’s a certain level of camaraderie among the drivers as a whole, some are assholes who I don’t vibe with. Unfortunately, that’s both of these guys, and I’m wondering how much of that is my distaste for the way they treat Bex in the strategy meetings. They openly question her expertise, make snide remarks and smirk at her all the time. I want to punch each of them squarely in the face when they do that, but hey… not my place.
Matthieu has that trademark smirk on now, the one he wears like a crown, and Bernie just looks clueless.
Reid offers a fist bump to both and it’s Matthieu who strikes with the first cutting remark. “I see you’ve met Mr. Comeback. The crash king himself, back in action.”
Carlos frowns and Reid doesn’t laugh the way Bernie does. It’s not necessarily in bad taste to rub a crash at someone, but in this instance, Matteo died, and I didn’t.
I strike hard and fast. “Mr. Comeback knocked you out of the number one car, didn’t I?”
Reid snickers, but Carlos maintains a bland look. Matthieu’s arrogant smirk is gone, replaced by red cheeks. I’ve known the guy for years and he’s the type who can dish it out but can’t take it.
“So, tell us, how’s the new female race strategy engineer working out for you?” Reid asks, and my gaze cuts to Carlos. This is exactly what I wanted to talk about… Bexley, but not the way I wanted it to happen. I’ve known Carlos a long time and figured I’d maybe get some intel of a personal nature regarding Bex, but Reid is asking about her in a professional capacity.
I do wonder if he’s biased against her since she’s a woman though. He didn’t ask about our new strategy engineer but about our new “female” strategy engineer. But before I can ferret out his potential bias, he adds, “I followed her work at Bauer. She was top of her field. Not sure the Titans could have picked a better replacement for Collings retiring.”
Okay, so I liked the guy from the start, but now I really like him for judging Bex on her merits, not on her sex.
“She’s emotional,” Bernie says.
My head whips his way. “I don’t know about that. The only one I’ve seen acting like a bitch in these meetings has been you.”
While Matthieu gets shut down easily when you call him on the carpet, Bernie is a hothead and bows his chest out as his fists clench. “Who are you calling a bitch?”
“Calling you a bitch,” I growl, taking a step forward.
Carlos moves between us, giving me his back and facing off with Bernie. “Easy there, Bernie. You pick a fight with Nash here, you’ll find an exit from the team before you even get to race this weekend.”
“Luca’s not going to cut me out of the lineup if I get into a scuff-up,” Bernie snarls.
Carlos pats him on the chest and laughs. “No, I suppose he won’t. But I’m not talking about him. I’m talking about the fact that Nash will wipe this pretty hardwood floor with your face, and when he’s done, I’m going to step in because Bexley Toliver is a friend of mine and I won’t stand for you disrespecting her.”
Bernie knocks Carlos’s hand off him and I glance around to see that no one has been watching us. “Whatever,” Bernie mutters and slouches away, tail tucked between his legs.
“What a wanker,” Matthieu says, nudging Reid in the arm with a laugh.
Takes one to know one , I think to myself, so as not to provoke anyone else tonight.
I turn to Reid, answering his question truthfully. “Bexley’s doing great. She’s earned her spot on this team.”
Reid grins, his gaze sliding off to watch Bernie melting into the crowd before coming back to me. “I think it’s awesome that there’s a female race strategy engineer. More women in sports is always a good thing, right?” His voice is light, but he’s also amused by what he just witnessed. He looks pointedly to Matthieu who pretends he sees someone he recognizes and mumbles farewells.
We watch him walk away and then Carlos turns to me. “Had a good talk with Bex earlier today.”
“Oh really,” I say blandly. “Hadn’t noticed you hugging her extra long.”
Carlos snorts and Reid’s brows draw in. “What am I missing?”
“They used to be together,” Carlos informs him. “And now she’s as single as they come.”
Reid’s eyes widen slightly in understanding, then he smirks. “Ah. So that’s why you’re so protective. I get it.”
I shrug, my tone guarded. “I don’t let people talk shit about someone I respect.”
Reid nods in approval and asks, “So she’s single, huh?”
I can’t tell if he’s asking for himself or just making conversation, but Carlos answers and I’m guessing he’s trying to poke at me. “I’m pretty sure Bexley won’t stay single for long. She’s got the brains and the looks.”
It’s tough but I tamp down the flicker of jealousy, unbidden but strong. I know Carlos is having a friendly go at me, but the thought of anyone getting too close to Bex makes my blood run cold.
Which is ridiculous. I shouldn’t care about who she sees or spends time with.
Still, I can’t seem to stop myself, my gaze cutting between my two friends. “Just don’t go there, mate,” I say, keeping my voice even.
Reid holds up his hands in surrender. “Message received.”
My gaze locks onto Carlos, who doesn’t give in quite so easily, but then he bursts out laughing. His hand comes to my shoulder. “You know, I tried to get nosy with Bex to find out what was going on between you two, but you told me more in the last ten seconds than I got from a full half hour of talking directly to her.”
Irritation picks at me but I shrug it off. “I’ve got no designs on her. But it would be weird to me if you did, so I’m just saying… don’t go there.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he assures me. “Bex is like a sister.” Something catches his attention and his voice trails off. But then he murmurs, “A super-hot sister though.”
Reid and I turn to see what Carlos is looking at and it’s Bexley, and fuck… she does look hot. She’s got on a black evening gown with a traditional high collar covering her throat and long sleeves. The material is adorned with black beads that glisten under the chandeliers and she’s wearing a black hijab.
The dress itself doesn’t make her look sexy, but it’s the confidence with which she carries herself. Her eye makeup is dramatic, those golden orbs lined with dark kohl and her full lips stained ruby red. She’s currently talking to a dark-complected older man with silver hair at his temples. He’s a top official with our governing body, someone who commands the utmost respect, and she looks completely at ease with him. I allow myself a moment to marvel at her confidence, which was one of the things that attracted me to her in the first place.
“Too bad there’s no dancing at this party,” Carlos murmurs thoughtfully and my neck twists to look at him.
He shoots me a devilish wink and I want to punch him. He was intentionally goading me to check my reaction.
“My friend,” he says, his Latino accent smooth and melodious. “I don’t care how much you might deny you’re interested, you are. My suggestion is you embrace it and figure out exactly what you and Bex might have—”
“We don’t have anything—”
He holds up a hand. “It may be you only have a professional relationship. I’m saying figure it out and move past the past.”
Tension leaves my body, and I nod at him. He’s telling me the same thing my father did. “Yeah… I know. You’re right.”
“And it might be,” he continues with a gleam in his eye, “that it’s more than professional.”
I open my mouth, but he gives me a short, stiff punch in the shoulder. “Don’t say something that I might later shove in your face with an ‘I told you so.’”
And with that, he walks off, still chuckling to himself.
Reid stands there looking amused, but I don’t give a fuck. Something about what Carlos said struck me hard.
Figure it out.
I ignore the buzz of the party around me—the laughter, the low hum of voices mingling with the clink of plates and silverware. I don’t know if things will ever be settled between me and Bex to the point we can be friends, but it’s not feasible for us to act like strangers. And we certainly can’t have any hard feelings between us if I’m going to trust her and she’s going to trust me on the track.
The past three years of my life have been about rebuilding, about pushing forward, and I need to continue that path, unencumbered by anything or anyone that could pull me backward.
“I’ll catch you later,” I say to Reid, giving him a vague wave, and make my way through the crowd to Bexley.
She sees me coming, proving that she knew I was in this tent and had her eye on me. She turns her attention back to the man, shakes his hand, and starts my way. We meet near the middle of the tent, but the crowd is shoulder to shoulder.
“Want to take a walk?” I ask her.
Blinking in surprise, she stares at me. “A walk?”
“Outside… to talk,” I explain.
She tosses her thumb toward an area behind her. “They created a huge outdoor oasis. Not as many people out there yet.”
I sweep my arm to indicate she should precede me, and we head out into the warm desert night.